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Annaliesa

Letters to a Crow

Author: 
Annaliesa

A chronicle of letters simply addressed to Crow of Bree. Each envelope scroll is sealed and shows heavy weathering from long travel. 

Annaliesa

What type of content is this?: 
Artwork: Drawing

 

((A charcoal sketch of my friends character Annaliesa who is a very interesting character indeed. Her creator has kindly drawn a few of the characters currently involved in the Wolfshead story, so I thought it would be nice to sketch Anna for her. Sadly, it has not scanned so well and looks better in my pad. I'm still learning to sketch and it's only my third attempt with charcoal.))

Source: 

The Thurin's Diary: People notes

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Diary

Sylgmar: Currently working with her as apprentice. Mr. Greenhand's bookkeeper and accounts manager, scholar in her free time. Smart and gentle. 

War in the North: Sharkey's Lieutenant: Towards a Meeting

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story

"Mister Berrywine! What a pleasure! We couldn't recognize you, it is quite dark. What are you doing here, in the Vale of Andrath?"
"I'm going South."
"Where?"
"You'll find out when I come back."

War in the North: Breeland: Raid on Fenflower Farm Pt.2

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story

Annaliesa stood up, watching as the men with torches scattered with the rest of the raiders, flinging them at the barn and the outbuildings.

War in the North: Breeland: Raid on Fenflower Farm Pt.1

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story
(This is a slightly edited account of an RP battle acted out in game)

The War in the North: Southern Troublemakers: Whispers in the Trees

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story

The young woman crouched, her forearms resting on her thighs, her murky blue eyes taking in the gruesome scene. A dagger dangled from one hand, still wet with blood as she had the kindness in her stone heart to finish off one man who was dying too slowly. He had been impaled on a broken tree limb, in a rather vulnerable if not fatal place on his body. She spat at the roots of the old oak and turned at the sound of foot steps. 

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